Favourite Doll
by Jessy-Fran
Summary: If I can alleviate some of the blood that pours from your crown of thorns, then I won’t mind being your favourite doll. Twisted SasoDei, One-shot.


"_If I can alleviate some of the blood that pours from your crown of thorns, the__n I won't mind being your favourite doll."_

_-_

"Deidara?" The voice was melodic, sweet and calm with an air of innocence about it that would make one think of a child. However, to Deidara the voice sounded twisted. Merely a man in the body of a child. It made him cringe with disgust and repulsion.

Turning to face the doorway of his room, Deidara saw what he desperately didn't wish to see. Glassy almond eyes gazed into startled blue, framed by a shock of soft red hair. Deidara knew only to well just how soft that hair was and how gentle those wooden fingers could be. He swallowed, knowing what was to come.

"Sasori Danna?" Deidara feigned surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I was bored." Sasori moved to sit next to Deidara on the bed, at which point the blonde shuffled a little further away from him. "I don't particularly enjoy being bored." He said in that unnaturally sweet voice of his, the one that made Deidara think of angels with blazing eyes of fire.

He turned away from Sasori, hoping in vain that maybe, just maybe, tonight he would leave him alone. He felt the puppet lean in closer to his body, lips coming close to the outer shell of his ear.

"If I didn't know any better Deidara-chan, I would think you disliked this." Deidara had to repress the shiver threatening to run its way up his spine. The words were accompanied by nothing. No warm breath to heat his skin or set his nerves racing. No, just emptiness that reminded the bomber that the creature he had once admired, possibly even loved, was no more then a wooden box with a heart. No more then a puppet.

He felt hands reaching to touch his blonde hair and it took all of his might not to inch away. The hands pulled away Deidara's hair tie, allowing the golden strands of hair to swing loosely around his face. Then Sasori began to idly play with the blonde locks, plaiting and twisting them to his own will. Much like the younger boy the hair belonged to.

The puppet reached into a trouser pocket and pulled out a hair clip. Briefly noting the look of discomfort on Deidara's face, Sasori pulled the blonde fringe that covered his left side and fixed it back. The newly revealed scope buzzed at the increase of light and automatically zoomed in on Sasori's face.

"You know Dei-chan, I prefer you hair like this. When I see your scope it makes me feel as though we've more in common. As though, like me, you're not as human as you seem to be." Sasori spoke with that softness in his voice again but this time it was tainted with something else.

Sadness? No, Sasori wasn't capable of feeling regret or melancholy and his voice didn't carry the same sound as when Sasori was feeling annoyed or angered.

Then it hit Deidara. It was pride. Pride at his control over the blonde. Pride over the fact that he could do and say things to Deidara that would get most people blown up. Had Deidara, the infamous terrorist, become nothing more then a puppet of a twisted little boy? A mere doll?

"Because you know I'm right Deidara." The fingers returned to his hair, snaking around the golden locks. "We are very much the same, however long you wish to disagree and argue over the fact. Two artists, shunned from our homes because of our art, both haven taken revenge on those who looked down on us." Deidara was vaguely aware of two wooden arms winding their way around his stomach but his mind was elsewhere, too busy concentrating on Sasori's words.

"Not that any of that matters now. Not when I have you, my precious little doll…" Sasori's hands traced over the lightly tanned skin of his partner, earning himself a long repressed shudder. Sasori smirked into the skin of Deidara and untangled his arms from around the blonde's waist.

Before he left the room, Sasori placed a kiss on his shoulder that was so light, if Deidara hadn't seen a flash of red hair out of the corner of his eye, he would have sworn he'd imagined it.

After the distinctive sound of his door clicking shut, the usually headstrong bomber simply flopped onto his bed and called Sasori every name under the sun. Why did Sasori always have to mess with his mind like that? Did he get off from making the blonde question his existence? Because that's exactly what the damn puppet did.

It was then when Deidara realised that, yes he had become Sasori's play-thing. He was something to amuse the puppeteer when his wooden puppets weren't good enough. Strangely though, the bomber found that he didn't mind as much as he used to. He was trapped in a web of lies and whispered sweet nothings that he couldn't untangle himself from. However, the strings wrapped around his neck were soft and, if he didn't struggle too much against the bonds, Deidara found they never tightened to the point of constriction. Sasori took good care of his puppets and he'd never even think of damaging his favourite doll.

* * *

**A/N:** I was bored and this is what sprang to mind. No, it doesn't make sense and there's no flow or structure but I've written worse so I thought some of you might be interested.

If anyone can tell me which manga the quote at the top is taken from, then you win a request. (It's not easy! At least I don't think it is…)


End file.
